I was getting to the point where I wondered how much more pain I could take. Every step I took was painful. Bending made my back hurt. I couldn’t sleep because every time I moved, pain shot out from my knees upward to my thighs, downward to my ankles.
After
physical therapy made me hurt worse, the rheumatologist’s next plan was to
increase my medication and prescribe a round of prednisone. The second day on
the increased Celebrex, I noticed my knees felt—almost normal! And that was
before taking the prednisone.
OK,
I’ve gone through short periods of time where I felt good for awhile. At least
this time, it may last longer than normal. I feel more optimistic about my
health than I have in a long time.
I was
able to convey to the rheumatologist that my pain had reached a new level and
something had to be done. I have an aversion to medications that only mask the
pain. Several years ago, after surgery, I filled a pain pill prescription. I
took a pill and vomited until my stitches felt like they were going to pop. I
decided the pain wasn’t bad enough to suffer the consequences of the pain
medication.
Jim
lived with chronic pain throughout most of his adult life. An injury in Vietnam
caused a fracture in his neck. He thought that surgery would put an end to it,
but it didn’t work out that way. Several years later during an MRI, metal
fragments were discovered near the surgical site. “Looks like a drill bit
shattered,” the technician told us.
Jim
lived with chronic pain, and we were constantly adjusting his medication
cocktail to get the maximum benefit with the least side-effects.
After
he went into long-term care, I still monitored what medications he was taking.
I went to the home one night and saw Jim walking bent over with his hand on his
back. “Have you given him his pain medication?” I asked the nurse.
“He
didn’t say he was in pain so I never gave it to him.”
“Look
at him! He’s walking bent over and holding his back. He doesn’t do that if he’s
feeling good.” After discussion with the charge nurse, his new care plan called
for pain medication on a regular basis.
Without
watching for visual clues, it may be impossible to know when a person with
dementia is in pain. Jim hardly made a sound for any reason, including pain.
Sometimes, he would groan, but more often, he suffered in silence.
During
the five years Jim was in long-term care, I could walk into his room at night
and know if he was in pain. I could tell by the expression on his face.
Sometimes when I walked in, he would get tears in his eyes. He knew I would get
him the help he needed.
It was
a blessing when I would walk in and he would smile or even just have a relaxed,
pleasant look about him. In my mind’s eye, I can see him in his recliner
glancing at the TV from time to time to watch a Chief’s game, a race, or a
country music show. He never showed any reaction to the action on the screen.
He just knew that was what he liked to watch and the staff was good to keep his
TV on his favorite shows.
Jim
never had any un-birthdays, but sometimes when I looked at him, I saw the guy
that captured my heart the summer I turned seventeen. That was always a good
day, and it always lifted my spirits to see him content.
Copyright
© June 2022 by L.S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
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